In thinking of that he forgot his own grief; and from the depths of his discontent he passed over to a mood of tender melancholy full of compassion. And then there awakened in him words which he was careful to remember. He thought of a butterfly that he had once seen flying seaward over the strand; and thinking of Marjon he said to himself: "Out to the sea a white butterfly passed--It looked at the sunshine, not at the shore; Now it must flutter in every blast, And may rest never more." As he repeated those last words he was greatly moved, and tears coursed down his cheeks. He repeated the lines, over and over, adding new ones to them, and ended by losing himself wholly in this sweet play. Thus the summer afternoon sped quickly, and Johannes went to the wagon for pencil and paper, to write down the thoughts which had come into his head. He was afraid they might escape. "What are you doing?" asked Marjon, waking up. "Are you sketching me?" "I am making verses," said Johannes. Marjon had to see the verses, and when she had read them she wanted to sing them. Taking from the wagon a zither, she began to hum softly, while trying to find the chords. Johannes waited in suspense. At last Marjon found a sad yet fervent melody, that sounded to Johannes like one well known to him of old; and together they sang the song: "Out to the sea a white butterfly passed-- It looked at the sun, but at the shore, never; Now it must flutter in every blast, Nor may rest, ever. "Oh, butterfly, little butterfly, Seeking everywhere for your valley fair, Never, ah, never again will you spy The shady dell, where sweet flow'rs dwell. "By wild winds driven out to sea, Floating on sunshine far from the shore, Evermore she a-wing now must be, And can rest, never. "Oh, butterfly, lovely butterfly! Through sunny blue, or shadowy grey, Never again shall you descry That leafy dell where the roses dwell." The children sang it once, twice, three times through; for those who had been awakened listened and asked for a repetition. Like a sudden illumination of sense and soul there came to Johannes the consciousness of having done something good. The poor, vile, neglected people--adults and children--had listened. He had made it, and it had given him happiness; now it seemed also to afford these sorrowful people some pleasure. This made him glad. It was not much, but then he could do something. Night came; the air grew cooler, a fresh wind blew in from the sea over the grassy polders, and a rosy mist hung over the dunes. The broad canal along which the camp lay was sparkling in the sunset light. Everywhere noises awoke, and from the town came the twilight sounds of hand-organs and the rattling of carts. The Fair-people formed a ring, and, eager for more music, besought Markus to play for them.